by K. Bromberg
“For what?”
I chuckle because he’s just being nice by saying that. “For trying to pick a fight with you.”
“Want to tell me why?”
I open my mouth to give some bullshit excuse, but nothing comes out. “Because I’m trying to figure out how to howl at the moon, but I’m petrified to take the next step that allows me to do that.”
Silence blankets the close quarters as he takes a step toward me. “Sometimes, you just have to jump off the diving board without testing how the water is first.”
“Prisha told me you’re this nice to everyone and I shouldn’t read into anything.”
“Did she now?” He takes another step toward me, the water from his still wet hair running down his bare chest in a rivulet that I can’t seem to look away from. “I knew there was more than what you let on the other night. Remind me to tell her she should mind her own business. She can be a little overprotective and a lot like a big sister.”
I take in a shaky breath when he reaches out and brushes a lock of hair off my shoulder. “So, you aren’t this nice to everyone?” My voice is barely audible, and thank god for that since I’m sure my nerves are vibrating in it.
“No, I am . . . but I don’t want to kiss everyone like I want to kiss you right now.”
“You do?”
“Mm-hmm.” That rumble of sound helps to build the ache suddenly burning between my thighs. “I’ve been thinking about your lips for days.”
“We’ve barely known each other for days.” I laugh, but it is swallowed by the sexual tension eating up the room.
“Then I’ve been thinking about it for hours.” He sweeps his thumb over the hollow of my throat.
“Hours?”
“Mm-hmm. Ever since I pretended like we needed to kiss for the sake of our cover.” He brings his other hand up to cup the side of my face.
“It wasn’t just for our cover?”
“No.” He darts his tongue out to wet his lips as his eyes darken in the dim light of the room. “Definitely not for that.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?” he murmurs as his lips turn up on one side.
“Yeah. Oh.” Deep breath. Don’t think, just ask. “Why haven’t you kissed me again then?”
With a courage I’ve never had before and a will bolstered by way too many glasses of wine, I step up to Slade Henderson and kiss him.
I’m hesitant at first, scared that I just overstepped, but when my mouth meets his, when his lips move in tune with mine, all of my worries fade into desire. All of my anxiety morphs into want. Need. Into anything and everything with the taste of his kiss and the smooth hardness of his chest beneath the palms of my hands.
He lets me take the lead despite the control I can feel humming just beneath the surface of his taut muscles. The minute his hands skim down the sides of my torso and his thumbs brush ever so lightly over the peaks of my breasts, I know he’s just as willing of a participant as I am in this delicate dance.
His tongue delves between my lips as his hands splay over my ass and pull me against him. Through my thin pajama bottoms and his gym shorts, there is no mistaking how hard he is, and if I said the feel of him didn’t stoke my fires even more, I’d be lying.
There is an electricity humming in my veins that’s equal parts thrill and lust and desire and I want all three to win.
His kisses are an assault in and of themselves. Soft and tender intertwined with desperate and hungry. Need and finesse edged with want and greed. Pleasurable contradictions that I am eager to explore.
One after another.
Our soft moans fill the small space as the floorboards creak beneath our feet.
“Blake.” He groans as I reach down and cup his hardness, his dick pulsing beneath my touch. The sweet, burning ache it creates between my thighs borders on painful.
He kisses his way down my neck as his fingers slip beneath my waistband and grab my hips. His caress begs for me to stay still and let him touch more of me, but when his lips close over my nipple through the fabric of my tank top, thinking coherently becomes nonexistent.
Anything but focusing on the sensations he’s evoking in me become irrelevant.
“Slade,” I murmur.
“Mmm?”
“Touch me,” I say between gasps as his lips close over my other breast and suck through the fabric.
“Oh, I’m getting there,” he says with a chuckle as he pushes me to sit on the edge of the bed, helping me pull my tank off. When the fabric breaks over my head, his cock is right in front of my face, pressing against the seam of his shorts.
Unable to resist, I tug his shorts down. When his dick springs free above the elastic band, I let out a gasp. It’s impressive by any measure, long and thick with a perfectly shaped tip, and so gloriously hard that I don’t even think twice before leaning forward and taking it between my lips.
“Oh fucking God.” The three words he half growls, half moans are just as sexy as the weight of him against my tongue.
Nothing else matters but the salty taste of Slade on my tongue and how his fingers tighten in my hair as I suction around him before I slowly slide him back out.
There’s just here. There’s just now. There’s just me saying screw the lacy boy panties, I want to be the G-string that owns every single sensation.
“Blakely.” A guttural growl as his dick swells in my mouth. “Blake.” A tightening of his fist so my hair pulls tight. “Blak—”
And before he can even get my name out, he yanks himself from my mouth and has his lips on mine. There’s a newfound hunger in his kiss. A desperation in his touch. A sense of control snapping as he pushes my pants down, moves me up the bed, and crawls over my body, his dick heavy on my lower belly as he leans over and captures my lips again.
Slade
Jesus Christ.
Seriously?
This woman is everything . . . every-fucking-thing. The way she looks at me. The way she responds to me. The way she asks how to howl at the moon one moment and then takes me by the balls the next without asking permission. The way she’s laying there with her pussy laid bare for me to do what I want with it.
“What, Slade? Don’t you want me?”
A groan slides from between my lips at the innocent tone coming from that body of hers that was made for sin.
“Oh, I want you, all right,” I murmur as I let my fingertips trail over the tips of her breasts, her nipples tightening in reaction. “But I need to know this is what you want. I know you’ve been drinking, and I want to make sure this isn’t the alcohol talking and you’ll regret this in the morning.”
“I’d be too self-conscious to do this with you sober.” She chuckles as she slides her hands over her chest and plays with her nipples between her fingers and thumbs.
“Why?” I lean down and gently tug on her bottom lip with my teeth. “You’re gorgeous and stunning and put all the other women out there tonight to shame.”
“Kiss me, Slade.”
I lean forward and slip my tongue between her lips, a trace of the wine still there, but everything else is pure Blakely. She’s sweet and warm and everything that makes me harder than I thought possible.
“When I fuck you, Blakely, I want you to remember every damn second of it. Each touch.” My fingertips skim over the top of her slit. “Each kiss.” I capture her gasp with my lips. “Every goddamn sensation.” I let my teeth scrape over the nipples her hands are holding in place for me. “And yes, I want to fuck you. Desperately. But I need to know your yes is because you want to and not because of liquid courage.”
It was a valiant effort on my part to try to be the good guy. I was trying to give her the opportunity to blame it on the alcohol or claim she was caught up in the moment and isn’t sure she wants this.
Because I sure as hell do.
She bites her bottom lip and slowly walks her fingers down her lower abdomen to the V of her thighs, which are spread with my knees pressing against them.
I glance up to her
eyes and then back down to where her fingers slip between the seam of her pussy.
It pains me to watch her and not participate as I slip a condom on. But fuck if seeing the red of her fingernail polish disappear between the pink of her folds before reappearing seconds later, glistening with her arousal, isn’t the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. Her gasped moan is the second sexiest. When I can break my eyes from watching her pleasure herself, the look on her face—the seductive eyes, her parted lips, the flush to her cheeks—is something I won’t soon forget.
If I thought she had me that night in the street outside of Metta’s, I was so damn wrong. This woman and her constant contradiction of insecurity and sudden confidence is sexier than I ever could’ve imagined. I love that about her. I want to claim both things from her in a way I can’t put words to.
So yes, I was trying to be valiant, but I’m a guy. I can be noble all I want, but at some point, desire takes control.
Her answer is to slide her hand back down her body so her fingers can, once again, disappear into her wetness. It’s one more soft mewl of a sigh breaking the silence.
I reach down and slide my finger over the tip of hers and take over. It’s my turn to become slick with her arousal. It’s my turn to slide into her warm, wet heat until she grips around me. It’s my turn to be pulled into her oblivion.
If she only knew how little it would take.
It’s the moan when I slip into her. It’s the tightening of her muscles around me when I hit that bundle of nerves inside. It’s the tensing of her legs when I add my thumb into the mix.
When I look up to her and find her eyes glazed with desire, the restraint I was testing is gone.
Obliterated.
Within seconds, I’m jacketed up and using my knees to push her thighs farther apart as I raise her hips off the bed. I resist the urgency that’s trying to own me and slowly push into her. Inch by inch. Her hands grip the sheets at her sides. My fingers dig into the tops of her thighs.
“Christ.” It’s part hiss, part moan, and it’s all fucking bliss as I bottom out within her and give her a moment to adjust to me. My vision goes hazy as every goddamn nerve within me bears the burden of restraint.
And then I begin to move.
A slow slide out that has her pussy clinging to my cock. There’s something about the sight that can bring any man to his knees. Her gasped moan as my thumb circles over her clit before I delve back into her warm, wet heat again.
The slow seduction of our hips becomes a little more urgent with each and every drive in.
The jiggle of her tits when our hips slap.
The ache in my balls as the pressure builds.
The bow of her back every time I grind against her.
“Slade.” Pull out. “God, yes.” A mewl. A slide of her hands between her thighs to help push her over the edge. “I’m almost there.” Her wetness coats my balls.
As her cry fills the room, it’s loud and laced with abandon. She arches her neck, her lips falling lax with each wave of bliss that hits her.
If the feel of her isn’t enough to pull me over the edge, the sight of her—hair wild across the sheets, fingers tightened, body taut with pleasure—sure as hell does.
And I do. I crash over the cusp with my hips pumping and my thoughts on her and this and how fucking incredible she feels.
How fucking amazing she is.
My lips meet hers one more time before I rest my forehead on hers as a million thoughts fight for attention, but the biggest of all of them is wow.
Just wow.
Blakely
Oh. My. God.
I slept with Slade.
Well, more than slept with him, but yeah. I did. And now, in the early morning hours as it sounds like a damn Snow White sing-along of forest animals outside the cabin, I’m laying here with his leg slung over me while not freaking out.
Maybe I’m freaking out a little, but it’s because it really happened—every slow slide in and out of his glorious cock—and not because I don’t know what to do or say when he wakes up.
Should I be freaking out? Should I be worried that he’s going to go into that I’ve-had-her-now-I-don’t-want-her mode Paul went into after the first time we had sex.
But I’m not.
Instead, I keep my eyes closed and relive every moment from last night in my head. Of course, there is a smile on my face, because how can there not be?
Kelsie would be proud.
It’s stupid to think, but that doesn’t make it untrue.
I stretch some and feel the glorious ache of a night well spent in all the right places.
So, this is what a rebound feels like. Carefree. Hassle-free. Fun. Satisfying.
Slade shifts behind me, and when I feel his obvious erection against my back, I jerk away out of reflex.
Slade chuckles. “Why are you so scared of it now when last night you were singing its praises,” he murmurs in that half-asleep, husky tone that does funny things to my insides. He slips an arm around my waist and pulls me flush against him before he props his head on a hand and rests his chin on my shoulder. “Uh-uh. You don’t get to blush. Not after last night. Not after what you did to me.”
What I did to him?
Is he telling me that he thought last night was as good as I thought it was?
He tightens his arms around me as his breathing evens, but there is no way in hell I’m falling asleep again. My mind is as awake as my body is, and it’s all because of him.
It all feels a little too easy, though. My first time with Paul left me wondering if it had been a mistake, while this? This is just comfortable when it should be awkward.
He shifts again, and I tense when his dick hits me again.
“It’s perfectly normal, you know? Morning wood. I could get all doctor-ly on you and give you a really long list of complicated medical terms to explain why it does what it does, but I’ll just say it’s indicative of a healthy male. You know, in case last night wasn’t proof enough for you.” His playful tone is all I need to hear to know he really is too good to be true.
“No explanation is necessary.”
“So, it was proof enough for you?”
I look up to find a grin wide on his lips and his eyes half-open.
“I thought we were supposed to measure things in satisfaction?” I quirk an eyebrow.
“True. Very true. I guess I need to up my game then.”
I freeze when he stretches, partially rolling on top of me, my body awakening fully to the feel of every long, hard inch of his weight on me.
“What?” I laugh.
“Getting my satisfaction ruler out.”
Slade grabs something off my nightstand and then retreats to his side of the bed. To my surprise, he’s holding the napkin from our dinner at Metta’s up in the air so we can both look at it.
“What? You kept it?”
“Of course, I did,” he says. “You didn’t think I was going to leave Blade’s To-Do list for just anyone to accomplish, now did you?”
“Why is the first one crossed out?” I ask.
“Because he definitely knows you were the better choice.”
“Whatever.” I laugh and swat at him.
“No, I’m serious. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you that night.”
“He can look all he wants. There is no going back there with him.”
“Really?” he asks.
“Definitely.”
Silence falls over the small cabin. “We’re halfway to crossing off the second one,” he murmurs.
“We are?”
“We know our history.” He shifts onto his elbow, a gleam in his eyes. “We just need to see how long those legs of yours are.”
“I figured you had plenty of time to study them last night.”
“I was a little busy enjoying other things.” His dimple deepens with his smile, and between that and the look in his eye, that delicious twist in my lower belly tightens.
He runs his hand
down the length of my hip to my knee, his hand resting there like an electric shock to my system.
“And how exactly do you plan to measure their length.”
His lips twist as he fights a smile. “In hands.”
“Like a horse?” I laugh.
“I’m surprised a city girl like you knows that.” His hand runs back up to my hip, and when it moves down again, it takes the sheet with it. “There are other means of measurement, you know.”
“Like?” I ask, not trusting my own voice to speak.
“Like with my tongue.”
“Oh.” It’s little more than a squeak.
“You seem to make that sound a lot,” he teases as my pulse starts racing and the delicious soreness from last night begs to be tested again.
I’m not sure what it is that makes me turn to look at him at the exact angle that I do, but it gives me a clean line of sight to the nightstand.
And the digital clock that tells me I have ten minutes to get to my first meeting.
“I’m late!” I shriek as I bolt out of bed like a woman on a mission.
His chuckle rumbles through the room as he props his pillow against the headboard and leans back against it to watch me scramble.
I run to the bathroom, too preoccupied with being late to worry about being attacked by a bear. Five minutes later, I’m back in the room, hopping from foot to foot, trying to put my shoes on.
“What’s this morning’s meeting?” he asks.
“Who knows? How to berate your employees so they hate your guts?” I mutter.
“Sounds like a fun one.”
I glance over to him as I grab my notebook. His hand is behind his head, his hair is sticking up from the fingers he just ran through it, and one of his tanned legs is wrapped around the white sheet.
He’s breathtaking. Even in my flustered state, it’s hard not to notice.
“I’ll be back at God knows when to get ready for our first group activity,” I say with a fake pump of my fist in excitement.
“Can’t wait.” He smiles.
“What are you going to do while I’m gone?”
“Cause some trouble.” He shrugs. “Wreak some havoc.”
